At the Parallel

He stands by the doors of the Rex all night Chain-smoking Celtas His eyes trouble more than one woman His voice is heavy and deep There's dirt on the sidewalk And the newsboy yell Nothing ever changes at the Parallel Nothing ever changes at the Parallel There 's a girl at the Molino She wears a leather coat The dust of Barcelona Sticks to her heals as she walks Trough the door And he thinks: "What the hell does she come here for? Maybe she wants me, and that's her way to say it? Maybe she wants me, and that's her way to say it? Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell? He bites his fingernails Scratches his eyebrows Lights another cigarette Watching the queens of the street Acting their parody of love And he feels like he stands by the gates of hell Nothing ever changes at the Parallel Nothing ever changes at the Parallel That girl from the Molino Who wears the leather coat Sits there rockin' slowly on a chair Gazing dreamly at the door And he thinks: "What the hell is she looking for? Maybe she wants me, and that's her way to say it? Maybe she wants me, and that's her way to say it? Maybe she wants me, but who am I to tell?"